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Turkey - Not just a Bird that needs stuffing
Entry 16 of 18 | show all | print this entry |
Not quite the travelling holiday I would have liked but after a shite time at work the break was welcomed with open arms.
After a glass of champers, fuck I'm posh, at the sushi bar in Birmingham airport we boarded the plane. Always a little conscious of bearded people and that includes the ladies since September 11th, we settled down for the oncoming journey.
Asena Village Hotel was our destination and we were not dissapointed. Now, I don't know whether you have ever been on package holidays but they can be a little bewildering. You're normally taken to your onward coach by a girl called Helen, who looks not to dissimilar to a shrivel led prune and smells of after sun. Helen or Mildred dependent on the age run through the safety precautions of the 50 minute journey like a recently made redundant Trolly Dolly (air hostess). With I might add the venom of not being recruited by Sleazy Jet or Arse Air.
In a Karoke tone she tells us the coach drivers name is Alfonzo, he has 19 kids and lives in the hills in a cardboard box... 'any donations on exit are very much appreciated'.
No time to sleep on this trip. You await what the first hotel drop off with anticipation that it may be yours, unless of course its a shithole.
First drop.. a mumbled voice is slightly audible over the tannoy..'Hotel Triane, Mr and Mrs blar blar'.
Thank fuck for that, it next to a crane and a couple of Turks scratching their balls in anticipation of Shirley arriving...thats Shirley Valentine.
An impromptus two fingered salute is given to someone I don't even know in pure relievement that they are going to spend two weeks of hell rather than me.
A few more drop off's, ha ha 'you're above a fucking disco'.. 'sweet dreams', and we arrived.
Being the penultimate drop we descended on Asena Village Hotel. Very nice complex with pool, garden restaurant and fairly decent rooms. Set in the hills of Hisaronu with a fantastic view and beautiful surroundings, struck gold again.
The lights were on in the bar...perhaps its still open. A tired Ali G greeted us and granted our first and definitely our last drink of the early morning.
After the representatives presentation I decided to join the PADI scuba course. Having bullied Tango into doing the beginners. Sorry forgot to mention that I was not alone on this particular travelling jaunt, I went with my wife Jane and two friends Andy (Tango) and Teresa. You will find out later why we will be holdaying on our own in the future.
I've always watched the scuba diving courses from the beach and pondered the idea that one day I would pluck up the courage to try it for myself. This was that day.
Tango never really took to it and decided being strapped in an oversized condom was not for him. I on the other hand thought the initial day went well. It was a little nerving at first but when you realise you're not going to die you feel quite at ease. We practiced a couple of skills and went for a dive with the fishies.
Incidently, smoking 40 camel shites a day doesn't really aid the sea fairing adventures you are to encounter. You realise how unfit you are and breathe like a laboratory bloodhound on a intravenous drip.
After the dive we were given homework...homework I'm on my holidee's.
Spending the next day revising nautical pressure's, what happens when you take a dump in your wetsuit and how not to tickle a great white in the never regions, I booked my next excursion.
I decided to go alone as it was a little unfair to expect the others to just meander around the boat feasting on goulash and sprite.
The dive team, who were very professional neglected to inform us that the second day was the bitch day. No swimming with the fishies on this trip, oh no. This day consisted of a 2 hour dive practicing skills. Taking off your mask under water, what happens when you run out of oxygen, using your buddies air supply, how to breathe without the regulator etc etc. Fucking what !!
A somewhat frightened group led by Zorbo the arrogant Germaic Greek descended to 30 feet to practice the aforementioned. Having thanked Nemo that we were still alive Zorba made us do 4 laps of the schooner and a 10 minute tread water. Fuck off ! I did two laps with the aid of a float and spent the tread watering exercise held onto the guide rope.
Half way through the goulash Zorba cried ' Ok peeps back in ze water'. Now I don't know about you but my mum always told us not to go swimming on a full stomach, especially with a 20k tank, a weight belt and rubber outfit.
Quick drag of the camel shite and were in again..oh no not more sodding skills exercises.
To say everything went wrong on the final day is an understatement. The weightbelt was fastened incorrectly and fell to the bottom of the sea, the life vest had a leak and I kept sinking so had to return for a replacement. My snorkel had a split in it, the westsuit and jacket were too big and then my mask broke..fucking a.
This group consisted of 3 off us, an Irish guy, a South African twat and me. The South African spent the entire dive being told off for trying stunts and showing off. To which the instructor spent most of his concentration on him and neglected to realise that I was giving the distress signal because my mask had split. Having forgotten all the rules of ascending, earlier passed in our exam, I was going up and I didn't care how.
The final straw was when the final part of the day was spent nervously looking at my air gauge and realising I was nearly out of air. The final exam was completed and I passed but I will never know how.
I am now a fully qualified diver and can go diving with someone who is also qualified, whats the betting I meet the South African circus twat.
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| 16. | Turkey - Not just a Bird that needs stuffing - Hisaronu, Turkey Dec 16, 2004 |
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